And The Demons Have A Thousand Names
by Redtailedfox
Summary: In a pit as old as civilization, there are secrets and stories: one story is of a demon who brings death whenever he visits. Klaus has spawned a million legends, but this one intersects with a man who will grow to be Gotham's most dangerous foe.


**A.N. Yep, this is kind of random. Just a one-shot, though I may be adding some others with different characters, kind of like my X-Men/Vampire Diaries crossover Encounters. Anyway! Reviews are always appreciated!**

No one quite knows how old the pit is. Some speculate that it was created centuries ago, others believe its age measures back thousands. There are even some who say it is older than that, those who believe their prison to be an ancient hole of despair, something older than words and older than kings. There is a history to it, unwritten and largely unspoken. There is dried blood in the ground and along the walls; there are scratches against the doors of the cells. The rough stones that form the long, tantalizing climb to freedom have been blunted by use and bear the marks and memories of hard failure and angry frustration. Someone's bones may have shattered against that one ledge- its edge is cracked and half broken away.

The pit is old, and contains many memories, as well as stories, and legends. There is one tale in particular, of a demon- or perhaps a punishing angel, according to the more guilt-ridden prisoners- that is said to nest in the deepest corners of the pit. The story goes that the creature resides in the worst parts of the prison, in the long-forgotten places where there is no sunlight to pierce the darkness, and where men dare not go. They say it waits until nightfall, and then kills with the ruthless savagery of an animal. The being ushers in death whenever it visits.

The story is ancient, shared amongst new arrivals in hushed voices, and all the prisoners who tell it have different names for the monster. They call it strigoi, demon, utukku, vampire, and a million other words in dozens of languages.

It comes once, not long before the mercenary's wife sacrifices herself for her beloved. There are deaths in the pit, and men are found with their throats torn open and their blood splattering the dirty stone ground. The corpses are found by the light of dawn, bodies discolored with death and drained of blood. Though violence among the men is hardly unheard of, there is an animalistic brutality to these murders that shakes even the most hardened of prisoners. Even the most fearsome among them fall prey to the menace, and terror spreads through the pit like plague.

Bane believes in the legend of the monster only to the extent that he steers from the darkest confines of the prison, and avoids exiting his cell during the lightless hours of night. He does not know exactly what haunts the pit, but he does not wish to become its next meal. At the same time, he does not give the demon's presence needless thought, for he refuses to succumb to the same panic that holds the other men in an unforgiving vise; even then he is working to discipline his emotions and perfect his control.

In those long-lost days, he was not always successful. One night he wakes to hear a sound from the cell below, and a primal dread rushes through him like a freezing wildfire. It is a laugh he hears, masculine and mirthful and as cold as fresh ice. It is the lazy laugh of the beast, sated from a kill.

The next morning, the other prisoners find a new body, in the cell a level underneath Bane's. He is unsurprised.

That was the last night the demon came. Its disappearance is welcome, but prompts as many questions from the men as its reemergence did. Some say it crawled back into the hidden passages of the prison to sleep for years, others say it grew bored, and with an inhuman strength that is the envy of the other prisoners, climbed out of the pit to reunite with the world above. Others say it flew, on inky wings crafted from sorcery and distilled darkness, but nobody knows for sure. Bane himself does not talk with the other inmates about what he heard, nor does he join in their frantic discussions. Alone, he only wonders whether the demon will return.

It does, eventually, but when it comes back it is many years later; Talia has risen and Bane has fallen, and new blood stains the pit.

Bane suffers in his cell. The wounds along his spine have healed and scarred over, but the agony has not faded, it is constant and sharp and races like fire through his body. It as if shards of metal are lodged between his vertebrae, and every errant twitch causes them to slice like little knives through his flesh. His anguish is numbing and paralyzing, and except for the rare occasions where it clears enough to allow him movement, he remains confined to his cell, unable to do much more than struggle to breathe through it.

He is not always alone. Sometimes the other men come. They glare at him or spit on the ground in anger- their rage has not faded. Bane's own rage is only just begun to grow, and maybe that is the disturbing new quality in his gaze that persuades them not to approach more than a few arm-lengths away. Only the doctor is brave enough or inoculated enough to the anger of men to venture further in.

Whenever the doctor comes, he comes alone and his weary features sag further as he examines the sight of his dismal failure. He is not fluent in English, but he apologizes to Bane in that language all the same. He will pat Bane on the shoulder sometimes, and apologize again. A thousand more apologies would not buy him his forgiveness. Bane wonders if the doctor can sense his malice, but if he can, he seems to choose to ignore it.

Aside from the unwelcome company, Bane waits in his agony alone, staring up at the sight of freedom not more than a few hundred yards away, and dreams that he had Talia's strength to propel him from this wretched place. He hopes his sister in all but blood is safe, that she is healthy and happy somewhere in the world. He hopes someday he will see her again, but that is a secondary hope, and so distant it is not worth reflecting upon.

One night the demon returns and Bane is the second person he visits. The remains of the first have dyed the beast's shirt crimson.

There is a full moon in the sky that night, and it provides ample illumination, enough for Bane's light deprived eyes to see clearly the monster before him. He cannot feel dread when he realizes there is a blood-soaked stranger in his cell, the pain has burned away all other emotions save for those associated with physical torment.

The monster is quick on his feet; he is suddenly beside Bane in less time than a heartbeat. The demon smiles at him then and his eyes are blue and eerily still. With a flash of welcome lucidity through the shroud of pain, Bane recognizes them as the eyes of a killer. Then pain-induced madness hungrily swallows up the brief moment of sanity, and Bane is forced to laugh as he realizes they are also very lovely, and it is suddenly incredibly amusing: the demon of the pit has pretty eyes.

The demon's jaw tightens dangerously and his smile exposes blood-darkened teeth, but then unexpectedly the arctic frost in his gaze thaws slightly, just enough to make him appear almost human. He takes a seat next to Bane on the cot, close enough for Bane to smell the rusty tang of blood and gristle clinging to his clothes.

"I'm impressed you can laugh," the demon remarks, in English. He leans in closer. "Truly. You stink of agony."

Bane does not respond immediately. He is not entirely sure that he can. Whatever it was that gave him the ability to laugh has faded, and carrying on a conversation is out of the question. He does manage to speak though, and forces out, "Kill me… if that is what you came to do."

The demon nods. "I might actually be doing you a mercy," he muses. "But then again, why bother?"

There is a spike of violent pain that originates from his scar and shoots outward like electricity, and Bane finds himself paying very little attention to the monster now. Pain is his world, it consumes him.

The demon narrows his eyes a little, maybe disappointed that he is no longer the focus of Bane's undivided attention, and then leans in, his hand going under the collar of Bane's shirt to press against the scars along his spine. He probes at them with a clinical curiosity, before his eyes soften marginally and his motions become circular and gentle.

"Do you have a name?" the creature asks, modulating his tone to make it more even and calming. "My name is Klaus," he says, perhaps to prompt him.

Bane has no interest in playing this game, but then with a startling jolt of comprehension he realizes the monster is actually attempting to _comfort_ him. The absurdity of it- that the ancient demon of the pit, the beast that struck fear into the very souls of the worst of criminals for centuries, is trying to _sooth_ him, shakes him enough that he offers his name. "Bane," he chokes out.

"You are strong, Bane," the demon compliments. "Let me take away your pain."

Bane shakes his head. He doesn't want to die, even in this torment, for nothing else but the remote possibility he might find Talia again.

The demon seems to guess at his thoughts, and clarifies, "I don't want you dead, Bane. I want you whole and alive, if you'd like. I can fix you. I can end your suffering. I can change you." His fingers relax, and they rest almost lover-like against the back of Bane's neck.

"You would change me into… what you are?" Bane asks, though he isn't even entirely sure what this stranger is.

The demon's light fingers are suddenly pressing into Bane's spine, and their gentleness before has disguised a great power. "There is no one who is what I am," the demon says sharply, but then his fingers drop down, and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet and sympathetic. "But I could make you into something _like _me, and all the pain would be gone, forever."

The demon strokes the side of Bane's face, placating. "You could live forever." Then the demon transforms, his eyes darkening, his veins bulging as if black snakes crawl below his skin. His teeth are sharp fangs.

Bane refuses, for reasons he can't quite remember. He thinks they involve Talia, as everything seems too. If he sees her again, he will be human.

The demon rises swiftly to his feet, and brushes imaginary dust of his pants. He grins expansively, brilliantly, towards Bane and then the smile vanishes, surrendering instantly to an expression that resembles regret. The demon's apology is one of the most genuine Bane will ever hear, except for perhaps the one Talia offers him, when she comes and saves him from the pit.


End file.
